Deliberation, Determination, and Deviation
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Draco is minding his own business at a lame club when Blaise Zabini sends him outside to check out a very interesting sight.  PWP MATURE CONTENT, ETC.


Blaise staggered against Draco and draped an arm around his shoulders, laughing as he leaned into him and nearly shoving Draco off the barstool. Draco pushed him away. The prat had just come in from doing Merlin-knew-what in the back alley with his latest boytoy and Draco had no desire to breathe secondhand come-breath. The boytoy gave Draco a glare, most likely because of Blaise's proximity to Draco; Blaise just loved to make them jealous.

"You'll never guess who I just saw in the alley," Blaise murmured. He laughed again. "I can hardly believe it, myself. It has to be someone on Polyjuice, although I can't imagine how they would have got the hair. Must have paid a fortune."

"What are you on about?" Draco snapped. He didn't know why he had allowed Blaise to drag him to this bloody club, except that Draco had been bored witless at the thought of staying home, and he had been hoping to get laid. The current club patrons had dashed that hope, as none of them came close to meeting Draco's standards. If one more hair-covered muscle-bound jerk dared to sidle up and ask, "Hey, babe, buy you a drink?" Draco fully intended to hex their balls into lumps of granite.

"Just go out and see," Blaise said mysteriously and pushed away from Draco. He leaned back into his boy-of-the-week and winked. "If you don't, I'll go get him myself."

The statement had Draco intrigued. Blaise had amazing taste, as was demonstrated by the Adonis currently petting Blaise's arse and sliding perfect lips up and down his neck. If the boy's hair had been dark instead of blond, Draco might have been tempted to lure him away from Blaise, or perhaps suggest a threesome. As it was, Draco preferred a particular sort.

"He's _exactly_ your type," Blaise added.

The emphasis caught Draco's attention. Blaise, more than anyone, knew Draco's type. He had been hearing about Draco's type since he'd been old enough to _have _a type.

"Exactly?" Draco asked dubiously.

Blaise laughed again. "Just go look. I'll give you twenty Galleons if I'm wrong."

Draco felt his brows rise nearly to his hairline. Blaise never gambled if he had a chance of losing. It was a universal constant. Draco slid from the barstool. "Twenty Galleons?"

"Fifty if you're willing to lose that much," Blaise taunted.

_Bloody hell_. Draco glanced towards the back door with sudden anticipation. "No bet," he said and started for the door. He avoided several groping hands and glared down looks of interest on his way to the door, shoving it open with a feeling of relief. The night was balmy and humid, a bit too warm for Draco's preference. The air inside the club had been warm and cloying and being outside was only marginally better.

The door shut behind him and Draco frowned as he looked up and down the dark alley. Fucking Blaise; there was no one around. He turned and was about to re-enter the club when movement caught his eye. A pale bulb shone onto a sign that advertised the name of the club; someone had moved out of the shadows into the light.

As Draco watched, the man slouched against the wall, displaying an obscene amount of flesh. _What the hell was he wearing?_ The man did not move and neither did Draco for long moments. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and Draco pushed away from the door to saunter closer to the man.

His eyes moved appreciatively over the skin on display. The man wore knee-high boots, which would have been far less amusing if he had also been wearing trousers; however, those seemed to have been misplaced. The man wore white briefs that barely covered what looked to be an exceptional package.

Above the briefs, a tiny leather waistcoat took the place of a shirt. A black cap, pulled low over the man's face, completed the ensemble. The getup screamed "rentboy", but Draco had never paid for sex in his life. He was curious to discover the man's price, even though he had no intention of paying it.

"Good evening," Draco said companionably as he approached.

"Hullo," the man replied with a smirk. His right thumb was hooked in the waistband of the pants.

"Nice night, isn't it?" Draco asked, moving closer and trying to ignore the tightening of his trousers. The man's body was exquisite, he had to admit. If only… Draco took a few more steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man's face.

"Like what you see?" the man asked and tugged slowly at the waistband, dragging it partway down his thigh and causing it to pull tight over the package contained—barely—within. Draco's throat went dry.

"Maybe," Draco admitted. "Although I don't generally pay for my pleasure."

The man chuckled. "Neither do I. You look familiar."

"Do I?" Draco asked. He took two more tentative steps. The man looked flawless, body gleaming with sweat and glowing with health. No potion-addicted trollop, this. He was something special; possibly a bored executive out looking for a good time?

"_Very _familiar," the man replied. "Come here."

Draco frowned. Following orders was not an option. Draco gave the orders; his sex partners obeyed. Still, the man did not know that, and his voice was delicious. Draco could play the game, up to a point. He pasted on a smile and moved into the man's light.

"Well, well, well," the man said. "If it isn't Draco Lush… Lush… Lussssssshious Malfoy."

Draco stopped immediately, eyes narrowing and libido taking an instant backseat to suspicion. "Who are you?" he demanded.

A beautiful grin split the perfect lips. "Come closer and I'll tell you."

_Fucking Blaise_. Draco was suddenly annoyed. If that bastard had set him up…

"Don't be like that," the man said and let go of his pants with a snap. He lifted his hand and beckoned. "C'mere, gorgeous."

Clamping down on his misgivings (and gnashing his teeth a bit), Draco stopped glaring and walked towards the man, acting unconcerned. His wand-hand was tense, ready to trigger the spell that would pop his wand into his hand at an instant's notice.

"Good boy," said the man in a purring tone.

Draco stopped between the man's legs and then reached up and pushed the brim of the hat back roughly. A lightning-shaped scar zigzagged beneath tangled strands of black hair. Draco's breath caught. It wasn't him; it couldn't possibly be him. Not in a filthy alley behind a gay club on a Tuesday night. But he was wearing his skin and it might, just might, be close enough.

"No glasses," Draco noted, just to be an arse.

"Ron has them."

Draco's brow lifted at that. The man had done his research, although anyone who could read a newspaper would know that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were, and always would be, inseparable. Draco allowed his gaze to travel down over the man's chest, abdomen, and navel. Below that, a dark trail of hair led into the white pants where a tantalizing bulge awaited.

Draco swallowed hard. He had often wondered what Harry Potter looked like under his Auror robes. Draco saw him frequently at the Ministry these days, usually in the lift where green eyes would meet his for one intense moment before shifting away disdainfully. They rarely exchanged more than a terse greeting. And under those robes, Potter looked… like this.

Draco had to touch. He reached out and placed two fingers on the man's chest, trailing them down over one pectoral muscle, one nipple, the defined edge of his ribcage, and down over the taut abdominal muscles.

"Whatever you paid for his hair and the Polyjuice, it was worth it," Draco commented, feeling a heady rush of lust. Draco did not fuck rentboys, and he especially did not fuck rentboys in filthy, dark alleys, but he was considering fucking this one, turning him around and burying himself deep into the spread cheeks of a Harry Potter facsimile, just to put paid to the fucking fantasy that he could never seem to push from his thoughts for long.

"Hair?" the man asked in a bemused tone. He hadn't touched Draco, as if suspecting the gesture might send him away, back into the club, not realizing that Draco was well and truly snared.

Draco's fingers reached the waistband of the white pants and slipped inside. With a single glance at the man, whose eyes had widened almost imperceptivity just before he gave a tiny nod, Draco pulled the pants away to disclose the star of thousands of Draco's wet dreams.

It was even better than he'd expected, and grew even as he watched. Potter's cock rose up from the cotton fabric, straight and thick and gorgeous. Draco's mouth fairly watered at the sight of it. He stroked a single finger down the velvety length of it and nearly asked how much right then, knowing he would pay it. But first…

"How do you know me?" Draco asked. He didn't pay for sex, but it was possible he had picked the man up in a club; even rentboys had nights off and times when they wanted to choose their own partners rather than have Galleons decide for them.

The man snorted. "I've known you since we were eleven years old. I spent sixth year stalking you. Have you misplaced your memory?" As he spoke, the man reached out and wrapped his hands around Draco's hipbones, pulling him closer. That amazing cock ground into Draco's, which had grown just as hard. Even with the taut fabric of Draco's trousers between them, it felt like bliss.

"That's common knowledge," Draco scoffed, although he wasn't completely sure about the sixth-year thing. Draco regretted that last cocktail. His thoughts seemed sluggish; he was unable to concentrate on anything more than the delicious pressure of the man's cock, now gently sliding up and down his own as the man rocked lightly against him. "Does Ron have your trousers, too?"

"Some bloke at the club Vanished them. That's when Ron said it was time to go home. Fuck, you're gorgeous. I've been thinking about ways to shut you up for the longest time."

Draco frowned. What if he wasn't a rentboy, but someone Draco knew? What if he was really that horrible Tomlinson at Gringotts? The disgusting jerk had been trying to get into Draco's pants for months. Draco shuddered at the memory and his erection flagged a bit. Tomlinson always smelled like fish and his lower lip never quite met his top one, always drooping away to expose his teeth, shining with saliva that turned into actual drool whenever Draco was around.

_Merlin, please don't let it be Tomlinson_, he prayed. "If _Ron _said it was time to go home, then why are you here?" Draco asked.

The hands around Draco's hips seemed to sense his waning interest, and they curved down around Draco's arse to pull him even closer. The man didn't smell like fish. Draco leaned closer and then pulled back again, nose wrinkling. He smelled like a whiskey vat.

The man chuckled. "Oh, that. I was all set to Apparate, thinking of home. Determination, deliberation, and destination all tied up… except I had to pee and thought about popping into the alley first to relieve the pressure… and here I am. Although I'm not sure which alley I actually ended up in. And I'm too hard to pee now, thanks to you."

"You could have Splinched yourself," Draco commented.

"Could have done," the man agreed. "Maybe you should check me out and make sure I'm all here." He leered.

Draco rolled his eyes and bit back a smile. "You're certainly idiotic enough to be Potter." To his chagrin, Draco was succumbing again to the delicious rocking and the fingers caressing his arse. There was no hesitation, only a sure grip and that amazing, slow friction.

"You don't think I'm me, do you?" the man asked.

"No, I don't think you're you," Draco replied. "Polyjuice is very expensive, and I have no idea how you acquired one of Potter's hairs, but… as you can see, it's very effective."

The man made a sound of agreement and then moaned slightly when Draco's hand wrapped around his cock. "Didn't know you wanted me, or Har… Harry Potter," he stuttered.

"For the longest fucking time," Draco admitted, leaning forward to bite lightly at the man's neck. He didn't smell like alcohol from this angle; he smelled musky and delicious, with a hint of spicy soap beneath. "I'm going to Apparate us, all right?"

With the man's cock in his hand, Draco no longer cared if it was really Tomlinson. At this moment he was Harry Potter, and Draco knew his chances of ever having the real Potter in his bed were less than none. Draco would fuck the man and send him on his way, hoping never to know his real identity. It would be worth it just to see Potter in the lift again, and smirk, knowing exactly what the Head Auror looked like under those robes.

Draco released his cock in order to fish out his wand. He Apparated them straight to the bedroom of the flat he shared with Blaise, on the rare occasions they happened to be in London at the same time. Blaise likely would not be home for hours; he loved to dance and usually had to be booted bodily from the club by the staff, making his way home only when dawn tinted the sky.

The man's hands had remained steady on Draco's arse when they Apparated, but now they fell away. He stepped back and took in his surroundings, seeming oblivious to the fact that his erection still jutted becomingly from his white briefs.

"It's not green," the man commented. Despite his appearance, Draco refused to think of him as Potter. It would be far too easy to get lost in the fantasy if he let himself slide so deeply into it. As long as he maintained some mental distance, he would be fine.

"Not all Slytherins are enamoured of green," Draco commented. "Is your bedroom red?"

The man lifted a hand to tug at his fringe in a curiously familiar gesture, dislodging the cap for a moment before righting it. "Yes," he admitted and grinned disarmingly. Draco blinked at him and wondered if the man was one of those crazy Potterphiles who went so far as to mimic everything in the Saviour's life, up to and including taking on his identity. The thought was alarming, but the man quickly dispelled Draco's misgivings by stepping close once more. "But enough about me. Let's get you out of those clothes, shall we? I feel a bit underdressed."

Draco allowed the man to unbutton his shirt, knuckles sliding sensuously over Draco's skin in what seemed a deliberate tease. When he reached the last button, instead of sliding the shirt from Draco's shoulders, the man moved his fingers to the waistband of Draco's trousers. They were held together with laces, as proper trousers should be, so the man tugged the ends of the silken cords. Draco's trousers loosened immediately and he breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure on his cock eased.

"Take off your shoes," the man breathed, leaning close to huff the statement into Draco's ear. An involuntary shiver travelled down Draco's spine and he obediently toed off his shoes, glad that he had worn his black loafers.

"You can leave yours on," Draco said, knowing the image of the man lounging against the wall in the alley would stay with him for a long time, dressed in boots, waistcoat, pants, and hat. "The hat, too."

The man chuckled. "Kinky, aren't you?"

"Says the man wearing Harry Potter's skin."

That earned Draco another smile, one that he liked very much. Potter had never smiled at him like that, not ever. It was a lazy, flirtatious, genuinely amused smile. Draco's trousers fell to the floor and he kicked them off to rest atop the shoes.

"Get on the bed," the man said with Potter's voice, albeit huskier and sexier than Draco had ever heard it before. "I want to see you there, ready and willing, just for me."

Draco balked for only a moment, once more trying to discern the identity of the man pretending to be Potter. Who wanted Draco enough to make such a request? Shying away from the less-savoury possibilities, Draco wrapped the fantasy around himself once more. _Pretend it's really Potter_, he told himself_. You can do this_. The man had been quite good, so far. Draco doubted Tomlinson could have held the pretence this long.

Draco walked to his bed and stretched out upon it languidly, lying with his right palm facing upward and his left down, concealing the Dark Mark even though it was still hidden by his shirt sleeve.

The man pushed his white briefs down and stepped out of them. He stood at the edge of the bed and stared down at Draco. His teeth gnawed at his lower lip and his eyes devoured Draco. "I feel like it's my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one." He crawled onto the bed and between Draco's legs, staring down at Draco's hard cock before leaning down to lick a long stripe up the length.

Draco gasped, not only because it felt amazing, but also because it was as close to Harry Potter's tongue as he would ever get. Draco wondered why he had never thought to use Polyjuice before. He could have had Blaise fuck him as Potter; Blaise would have thought it was hilarious. Of course, then he would have blackmailed Draco with the memory for the next century, but if he had been half as good an actor as this man, it might have been worth it. Draco made a mental note to find out how the man had acquired Potter's hair. Draco could brew his own Polyjuice.

The man's mouth engulfed Draco's cock, ceasing all thoughts beyond the wet heat that was suddenly the centre of Draco's universe. Surprisingly, the man wasn't that skilled. Teeth were in evidence too frequently for Draco's liking, but he made up for it in enthusiasm and creativity. He nibbled and lapped and licked and sucked at every part of Draco's cock he could reach, lavishing more attention on it than anyone Draco could ever recall. _Definitely no rentboy_, Draco concluded absently, clenching his fists in the blankets as he strove to hold off his orgasm. Unskilled, perhaps, but more than adequate.

The dark head lifted and the man's eyes locked with Draco's, burning with intensity. His lips were wet and when he spoke his voice was rough from battering his throat with Draco's cock. "I want to fuck you," he said.

Draco froze. That had not been on the agenda. Draco did not bottom, and he certainly did not bottom for possibly rentboys or strangers, or creepy bank workers obsessed enough to acquire the hair of the most famous wizard alive. "No," Draco said.

Careful fingers touched Draco's nether entrance, wet with residual saliva that dripped down Draco's balls. One finger circled teasingly, causing the muscles there to jump with anticipation. Draco felt an immediate ache; he enjoyed bottoming, but it had been a long time since he had trusted anyone to be in that position. He shut his eyes. If only it were really Potter.

"I can conjure lube," the man said. "I'm not totally inept. And I didn't lose my wand with my trousers and glasses. See?" The fingers left Draco's arse then he tugged at the leather waistcoat he still wore, obviously digging into a pocket for his… _wand_.

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows with a jolt of near-panic. He lifted a hand to implore the man to put it away; he wasn't ready for the fantasy to be spoiled, not now, but the expected pale willow wand did not materialize. Despite his misgivings, Draco had fully anticipated Tomlinson to be the culprit; he also intended to Obliviate the bastard the moment the Polyjuice wore off. What Draco had not predicted was the lumpy, holly wand of the Saviour himself.

Draco blinked at it for long moments, heart thudding almost painfully in his chest. "You can't have Potter's wand," he said stupidly.

"I can if I'm Potter," the man replied with a cheeky grin. "I never said I wasn't, if you recall. You've been the one prattling on about Polyjuice and hair." Draco tried to do something other than gape at him, but he was silent so long that Potter's mouth turned down into a worried-looking frown. "Are you all right?"

"Tell me something only you would know," Draco whispered.

Potter smiled. "In sixth year you broke my nose on the Hogwarts Express and left me bleeding under my invisibility cloak. Later that year, I nearly killed you with a spell when I walked in on you crying in a bathroom. I was captured by Death Eaters during the war and you refused to identify me when I was taken to Malfoy Manor. I pulled you out of the Room of Requirement when you were about to burn to death; you saved Greg Goyle's life. I think you are a spectacular flyer and you look stunning in Quidditch leathers. But I don't suppose you know about that last bit, since I've never told anyone until now."

Potter had shifted forwards as he spoke, until he lay on Draco's stomach, looking earnestly into his face. One hand traced light circles around Draco's left nipple. Draco could feel Potter's heartbeat above his erection, which was waning as panic began to set in. _Potter_. It was really Potter. Draco was… well, he was utterly fucked.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked.

"You brought me here, remember? And when I said I didn't know you wanted me, you said something astonishing. Do you recall?" Despite the teasing words, there was no amusement in Potter's tone, nor did his expression waver.

"I said I've wanted you for the longest fucking time," Draco whispered.

Potter launched forwards, slamming his lips into Draco's and kissing him for all he was worth. Draco's bemusement disappeared beneath an onslaught of renewed lust at the feel of Potter plastered against him, warm and willing. Potter's hands roamed beneath Draco's shirt, bunching the fabric and caressing Draco's skin into gooseflesh.

If Draco had found Potter's cock-sucking to be enthusiastic, it was nothing next to his kissing. Apparently Potter had something of an oral fixation, and wasn't that a pleasant surprise? He kissed as if he needed to trace every part of Draco's mouth in order to live.

Potter broke away for air and Draco gasped against his lips; Potter's hand had found Draco's cock again and coaxed it back into hardness. Potter pushed himself up for a moment and looked down at Draco's cock as the tip appeared and disappeared with each stroke of Potter's fist. His eyes met Draco's again with stunning intensity.

"I can't believe it's really you," Draco whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open and his orgasm at bay. Potter was going to make him come with a single hand and a few kisses.

"How many people know about the Room of Requirement?" Potter countered. "How many people know I gave you that scar on your chest? How many people know you couldn't kill Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower when you had the chance?"

Draco's eyes snapped fully open. "No one knows that!"

"I do. I was there, under my invisibility cloak, immobilized by Dumbledore. It was the first time I saw you for who you really were."

"A coward?" Draco asked bitterly.

Potter shook his head. His voice was soft and serious when he spoke again. "Not wanting to become a killer doesn't make you a coward, Draco." The intensity in Potter's green eyes caused Draco to look away, but something in his chest loosened at the certainty that it was really Potter. Harry Potter was actually _here_, in Draco's bed, looking at him with Gryffindorish honesty and saying Potterlike things and making Draco believe in absurd concepts that needed to be curtailed before Draco said something stupid.

"I want you to fuck me," Draco said and then winced, because apparently he hadn't restrained his sentiment quite in time.

Potter's eyes grew wider and darker and he seemed to forget to breathe for a moment. Even his talented hand stopped moving. "You'll let me…?"

Draco nodded, blushing, but he didn't feel quite so foolish.

The simple gesture provoked even more kissing, but Potter's hand left off caressing Draco and used the wand to Conjure some lube. When the first slick finger slipped into Draco, it felt glorious, amplified by the expression on Potter's face.

"I know there are preparation and protection Charms," Potter said, "But I don't know any of them." His voice was apologetic, but Draco only smiled, strangely pleased that Potter had obviously not been out whoring under the guise of Polyjuice or Muggle anonymity.

"I do," Draco said and took Potter's wand. He, of course, had not been particularly virginal. It was a rarity to cast the spells on himself rather than a partner. One of them was cringe-worthy and he made a mental note to practice that one, although it could be Potter's wand fighting him. His random thoughts fled the moment Potter's fingers entered him, three this time, eased in by the spells. Draco threw his head back and dropped the wand, biting his lip at the sensation when Potter's fingers moved in an exploratory fashion.

"Okay?" Potter asked.

Draco dragged Potter down into a kiss, shoving his fingers into the thick black hair for the first time. Potter's hat had fallen off during the previous kissing session. "I want you inside of me right now," Draco said roughly and tugged at Potter's lower lip with his teeth for emphasis. All of his fantasies had featured Potter roughly slamming him up against various surfaces and fucking him brutally. Draco should have guessed the opposite would be true; Potter was a careful and considerate lover.

Once his amazing cock was fully sheathed, however, Draco's fantasies came to life.

"You feel so… I have to move."

"That would be much appreciated, Potter," Draco said and then he nearly arched off the bed as Potter pulled nearly out and slammed into him. He sensed Potter was about to apologize, so he hissed, "Yes! Like that, Potter, fuck."

He moved his hands from Potter's thick hair to his arse in order to guide him. Potter set up a punishing rhythm that would have had Draco begging for mercy if it hadn't been exactly what he wanted. Bloody hell, he would be feeling it tomorrow, but right now it was worth it. Draco tried to stave off his orgasm, but he had been close enough even before Potter had begun to fuck him.

Potter paused to kiss him again, and then wrapped his hand around Draco's cock. The touch was all it took; Draco cried out into Potter's mouth as he came, pulsing in Potter's sure grip. A few more thrusts had Potter gasping and shuddering, in between frantic kisses and nearly unintelligible affirmations and random oaths.

Potter collapsed atop him, a sweaty, panting, dead weight. Draco normally threw his lovers off immediately and set about casting Cleaning Charms while working out how to get rid of them. This time he only wrapped his arms around Potter and breathed in the musky scent, unsure how to get him to stay.

"That was amazing. You're amazing," Potter said.

Draco made a noncommittal sound, unable to articulate his thoughts. His fingers drew random patterns over Potter's skin beneath the leather waistcoat, which probably needed to come off; Potter had to be overly warm.

"I've never had sex with boots on," Potter added.

"Maybe you should take them off and stay awhile?" Draco suggested.

Potter's head lifted and he stared at Draco. "All night?"

Draco nodded, trying not to blush, but it didn't matter because Potter pushed himself away to tear at the boots, flinging them to the floor next to the bed. Socks and the leather waistcoat joined them, and then Potter was gloriously naked. Draco took the time to cast a Cleaning Charm on the mess covering his abdomen. He left the rumpled shirt on, since Potter seemed to like it.

Draco pushed back the blankets and allowed Potter to climb inside. He immediately wrapped himself around Draco like an inferno, but Draco couldn't find it in him to complain. He was feeling the languid pull of sleep when Potter said against his hair, "I still need to pee."

Draco snorted a laugh. "Out the door, turn left. First door on the right."

"I'll be right back," Potter said and slipped out of bed. Draco was glad for the moonlight as he admired Potter's arse. He was just snuggling intothe pillows again and breathing in the residue of Potter's scent when he heard a distinct pop.

"Draco?" he heard, followed by a loud oath and then, "Hello, Potter."

"Zabini," Potter replied and then he was back in Draco's room and slamming the door shut. Draco admired his nude form, but was not pleased that Blaise had been allowed the same privilege, except that now he would be properly jealous of Draco. Blaise's laughter followed Potter inside and Draco smiled at Potter's disgruntled look.

"You live with Zabini?"

"That should be obvious," Draco said, suddenly worried that Blaise's presence would drive Potter away. Potter didn't move from his place by the door. "He has his own room," Draco added. Not that Draco didn't avail himself of Blaise's services whenever the urge struck, but neither of them were particularly into one another.

To Draco's relief, Potter returned to the bed and his earlier position, fitted tightly against Draco. It was even better with more skin exposed, Draco found. Potter seemed tense, however, not relaxed as he had been before.

"I don't like to share," Potter commented after a moment.

Draco's breath caught. "Are you staking a claim, Potter?" he asked.

Potter's arms tightened. "If you want to do this again, then, yes. I want exclusivity. Of course, you'll have the same. No more clubs or picking up Polyjuiced strangers in dark alleys."

Draco wet his lips, trying to assimilate the fact that everything he'd ever wanted was right here in bed with him, demanding _exclusivity_. "You know Blaise is probably owling Pansy right now and news that we've spent the night together will probably hit the Daily Prophet in the next hour?"

"Does that mean you accept?" Potter asked doggedly.

Draco laughed and nipped at his collarbone. "Of course I accept. You are the one that will receive the most hate mail, although I'm sure your fans will send me Howlers in droves and hex me on the street."

Potter relaxed. "Anyone hexing you will have to answer to me."

Draco felt a rush at the idea of having all of that heroic Gryffindor power protecting him. For a moment he considered provoking his old enemies just to watch Potter rush to his aid. Draco filed away the idea for later perusal. For now, he only wanted to sleep.

"You'll be here in the morning, then?" Draco asked.

Potter's chuckle warmed him. "Just try to get rid of me."

~END~


End file.
